Forgiven
by Kuriyami
Summary: [ RENT ] Oneshot. Angel recalls how she got AIDS. Again, my summaries kind of suck.


I wanted to write an Angel fic, but I don't think it came out right. But I'll put it up here anyway.

Jonathan Larson totally owns all of this...except Jason. I do own Jason. But everything else is his, I swear.

* * *

Angel looked at Collins as he lay sleeping. Such a peaceful face. She loved that face, loved him. It had been a long time before something like this came along, something this strong and powerful and overwhelming. 

Angel had waited a long time for someone like Collins. Someone sweet and gentle, someone wonderful, someone who loved her just for her. And could you imagine, what brought them together was AIDS? Collins confessed to him later, that January after that fateful December, that when Angel openly confessed having AIDS without any anger or sorrow, Collins was touched. Of course, Collins also added that Angel looked mighty sexy in Santa drag. Angel laughed, and they shared a short, sweet kiss.

Angel remembered long ago when he was only wishing for something like this, what she had with Collins. Long ago, those memories that hid in her blood, existed in the AIDS rushing through her body. Angel didn't regret her mistakes, though; because of her wrong decisions, she had been shaped into the person she was now. And although she never let it out, never let Collins know, occasionally when her mind drifted, Angel mused about that time.

Angel had fallen in love with his name first. Jason. Oh, maybe not something special to you, but Angel had a crush on a boy named Jason once. She knew the meaning. "Healer". Angel always had a soft spot for nice names. Names that flowed off the tongue nice or ones that had interesting meanings. And Jason was just one of those names; simple, but it sparked Angel's interest. She remembered the first time they met.

Well, the first time they took an interest in each other.

Angel was amazingly dressed up in normal clothes, a rarity for her in those days. Jason was at the bar, and Angel was dancing with a bunch of friends...friends she no longer knew, friends that broke their ties, friends that weren't really friends at all, when you look back on it.

They got pushed together, and Angel accidentally stepped of Jason's foot, due to a rough push from one of those so-called friends. Angel whipped around, feeling vulnerable without her drag on. The group insisted that she not cross-dress tonight; "We want to see how many guys you can pick up without it!" Hmph. Some people just didn't know style if it whacked them in the face with a platform, huh? Angel could feel her face turn red, terribly embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"

Jason laughed."It's okay," he shouted over the music. "It's not like people haven't stepped on my foot before." He saw Angel's blush easily enough, and grinned. "Don't be embarrassed or anything, okay? It's not everyday a cute guy says sorry for accidentally bumping into me." Angel couldn't help but giggle._ Honey, if you think I'm cute now, you should see me with a skirt on._ "CanI get you a drink?" Jason asked her, and the rest, as they like to say, was history.

He was so kind, sweet, and gentle. Looking back, Jason reminded Angel of Collins, except for the fact that Jason never meant as much to Angel as Collins did. Looking back, they never had the bond Angel and Collins again. But Angel did love Jason, there was no doubt about that. She remembered the time Jason turned to her, saying sweetly, almost apologetically, "Angel...can you not wear that all the time?"

Angel blinked at him, a tiny smile on her face. "Do you not like this dress? I can always change if you—"

"No," he said, "I mean, in general. The skirts and the wigs and the make-up." Angel's face fell.

"...You...don't want me to wear my clothes?"

"Just...not drag."

She felt like she was going to cry. This was her, she _loved_ drag...not to mention she only had a few boy clothes. Jason saw the distress in her eyes, and hugged her. "I could lend you some clothes. Look, I only say this because I love your natural look, baby."

Jason never understood that drag _was_ her "natural look". Angel would remember the relief she had felt when Collins told her he loved her outfit, loved her dresses, loved her wig. But she had changed for Jason, the only time she would change for anyone. Angel thought this was true love, and she would do anything to keep it afloat.

Eventually, they did have sex. It was gentle, slow, a nice time. Jason would hold Angel in his arms until she drifted peacefully to sleep, then leave until morning. Angel was too blinded by love to wonder what Jason would do when he went out; she only wondered when he was going to be back.

Then it came. That fateful day which would be critical in molding Angel from who she was then to the person she was now. It was always fresh in her mind, the memory of clean clothes and white linen. Angel was folding laundry when Jason came in—three in the afternoon, or was it three thirty?—with a small scrap of paper crumpled in his hand. It was obvious he was upset, so Angel stopped folding and walked up to him, putting a hand lightly on his shoulder. "What's wrong, Jason?" He shrugged her hand off, his movements rigid and cold, walking a few steps away. Angel could feel his heart cracking at this simple gesture; he never had shrugged Angel off before. It seemed like forever until he finally spoke.

"I have AIDS," he muttered, low and almost angry. He was facing the wall, back turned to Angel. Tears filled her eyes.

"Jason," Angel murmured, wanting to comfort him, to hold him, to tell him it wasn't the end of the world, but the second she touched his back, he slapped her hand away.

"Don't touch me!" he half-shouted, half-sobbed. Angel was overwhelmed; so many things she was just learning, so many things Jason just didn't do. Angel remembered this moment feeling helpless, feeling like she couldn't do anything. She was so overwhelmed with confusion, sorrow, but mostly a heavy heart.

"How did you—"

"How did I get it!" Jason yelled, hysterical. Angel nodded timidly, her eyes wide and frightened at his out-of-character behavior. "I got it from some random fuck, that's where I got it from. Fucking sluts," he spat, and Angel's brow furrowed.

"Sex? But...we're only ever had sex with each other," she murmured, her voice tiny and confused.

Jason walked up to her, and took her chin lightly in her hand. "You were a fuck on the side, dear. Being bisexual has its advantages." His tone was so crisp, so cool, so flippant that Angel had to let the truth sink in before it really started to sting. No one had burned her like that before, no one had hurt her this deeply. She trusted him, and he screwed around. She gently moved his hand from her chin, and he laughed bitterly. "You never put it together?" he shouted, jumping up and standing over her. Tears started to pour down her cheeks. "You never knew!" Another horrible, horrible laugh.

And then Jason started to sob. "Oh god. Oh, god. That's why you never left me. You never knew." angel looked up at him, a grotesque smile shining amongst his tears. "You know, you probably have it, too. The doctor said I've had it for about three months or so...probably more." The two had been together for seven months now, plenty of opportunities to contract the virus. This news would whisper in Angel's mind, but didn't truly affect her yet. Later, when she went to the doctor's it would hit home, but not now.

Jason looked at her, stumbled to her, feel to his knees in front of her. He leaned forward and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. Angel couldn't manage any words. She was just too taken aback, and the small moment of affection was lost on her now. She would remember it later, touch her fingers to her cheek later and start to cry, but right now she hardly moved. So many unwelcome surprises, so much unwanted news. He stroked her cheek. "I'm sorry, Angel," he said softly. "I hope one day you'll learn to forgive me."

Taking Angel off guard, Jason pounced on her, knocking her to the ground and pinning her arms with his knees. His hands clutched her throat, robbing her of breath. Angel remembered thinking she was going to die, how could she die with so many regrets, so much left undone? The smell of laundry wavered in the background, and everything went black.

Around dusk, Angel woke up, coughing, gasping for air. Slowly, she sat up. The red numbers of the clock read 6:42. Angel touched her head lightly, having a bruise from where she banged it on the ground as she fell. As Jason pushed her down. Angel got up, taking her time to walk to the mirror. There were bruises on her neck, purple and slender, like fingers. Angel shuddered, and tore her eyes away from the reflection. She might have to wear turtlenecks, but luckily it was getting very cold around here. The bruises would fade, and she would live. Angel would live...but not for long, huh? There was a good chance she had AIDS, right? Another shudder shook Angel, thinking about what had occurred only hours before. Jason had never been like that. Ever. He had only been compassionate towards her, never violent. The memory of it would still scar Angel deeply, the memories of now and...Jason. Angel noticed he was nowhere in the room. "Jason?" she said aloud. He probably ran off, probably left her...the drag queen walked into the main room of the apartment, looked around, and started to cry. It was the only time Angel remembered crying without any solid emotion, just letting the tears caress her face.

There was a pool of blood by the couch, an outstretched arm, a gun that had fallen to the side. Jason had made sure Angel was unconscious, and then killed himself. _I hope one day you'll learn to forgive me._ Angel probably would have screamed, yelled out his name, whispered something before she fell to the floor if she could find her voice. But it was lost, lost like she was, lost to be found in a happier day.

Angel turned her mind back to the sleeping Collins, the love of her life. He loved her drag, loved her wigs, loved her "natural self", the drumming drag queen with stars in her eyes. Collins had been attracted to her life, which was ironic, since slowly dying right before everybody's eyes. But she didn't like to think like that.

The thing she loved about Collins best was his eyes. His chocolate brown eyes with a hint of blue in them, that lightest shade of blue. They saw through everything, left out nothing. Oh, those sweet eyes of his. But they weren't open now.

Collins was in a deep sleep, and Angel didn't want to wake him. She need to walk around, just for a little bit; she would be back before the sun started to rise.

Angel's legs ended up taking her to Mark and Roger's loft. She loved this place, regarded it as a second home, as almost all their friends did. It was a place of happiness for her, a place of good memories. She heard rustling inside...and lightly rapped on the door. Angel hadn't come to bother them, but if someone was awake she wouldn't mind saying hello.. Chances are it was Mark. He loved to get shots of the moon, which was in a beautiful crescent tonight.

It was Roger who opened the door.

"Angel?" he asked, then smiled. "What are you doing here?" he asked conversationally. He probably figured Angel hadn't seen his watery eyes, noticed that his cheeks were still a little damp, or the light water marks on his sleeves.

"Why were you crying, Roger?" she asked softly, passing all the formalities of a normal conversation. It was three in the morning, anyway, if she wanted to use that for an excuse.

Roger scoffed. "Crying? Mark does all the crying here, Angel." A silly joke. Mark never cried if he thought he might be found. Mark always cried in secret.

"What's the matter?" Angel persisted, and Roger gave her a bitter half-smile.

"It's our anniversary."

"Yours and Mimi's?"

"Mine and April's." Roger looked to the left, angling his head down, but he couldn't hide this from Angel. She remembered Collins mentioning April, mentioning that she committed suicide and Roger had found her body. Other than that, she was clueless about April. Angel didn't ask for any particulars, and Collins never gave them. But from what Angel had gathered, April was a huge part of Roger's life.

"How many years?" Angel asked, and Roger smiled.

"Two, maybe. Long time. Long time for people like us." She could almost hear the memories flash in his head. "She was really somethin', Angel," he muttered.

"Something special?" she murmured, lost in her own mind for a second.

"Somethin' special," he said, and quietly started to cry. Angel went to give him a hug, but he backed away. "No. I know I look pretty fucking stupid, crying in a doorway at three in the morning," he said in a low voice, "but it's fine. I'm okay."

"I understand," Angel said, and Roger reacted violently again.

"No!" he shouted in a low whisper, still aware of the sleeping Mark and Mimi and how thin the walls were. "Everyone says that, but no one fucking understands, okay! You've never had that happen! You've never had someone die right in front of you, and you couldn't do anything to help!" Roger's tears started to flow harder, the green in his eyes flashing. "She was everything to me. I know I should be over it, should be fine with Mimi, should be happy I'm with Mimi...but I can't get over it." He looked up at her, his face almost in a snarl. "Just leave me alone."

And as he went to shut the door, Angel hugged him, wrapping her arms around the guitarist. This sudden burst of affection, even when Roger had basically told Angel to get lost, made Roger lose it. He started sobbing into Angel's clothes, embarrassed. She had knocked right as he was thinking about finding her, wrists open, eyes glazed over, her hair matted and tangled. That image would haunt Roger in his sleep every night before he went to bed, right before he fell asleep beside Mimi.

And Angel held him. They were just sitting in the hallway, two people haunted by the ghosts that lie in the shadows. Angel had learned to fight hers off. Roger was just beginning to. Angel would never tell Roger just how much he understood, just how much she sympathized with his loss. She just held him, her cheek resting on his hair. "Shhh." Angel didn't say, 'It's okay,' or 'Everything will be fine,' because Roger wouldn't believe it anyway.

So, instead, she hummed a soft lullaby her parents would sing to her when she was little. She would sing it to Collins sometimes when he was having a bad day. And now, as Roger wept, Angel comforted him as best she could with this wordless song.

Roger, you'll never understand how much I understand, honey. One day, you'll learn to remember without crying. I have.

_I hope one day you'll learn to forgive me._

I have.

-fin.


End file.
